


Homecoming

by pixie_rings



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Size Difference, Size Kink, Xenophilia, bitches be sleepin on this good canon shit, i cannot BELIEVE there was no zargar tag already, i have to do everything around here don't i, lazy asses all of you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-05
Updated: 2017-08-05
Packaged: 2018-12-11 11:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11713236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixie_rings/pseuds/pixie_rings
Summary: Zarkon returns and Honerva welcomes him home.





	Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> FIRST!
> 
> No but seriously, why is there not already a tag for these two? Jfc Voltron fandom y'all suck.
> 
> I love them, ok? I love them a lot.

It is dim in their shared chambers but for the low, purple-tinted light, and the blue wash of a discarded holotablet screen in the corner. His shed armour sits upon its stand in the corner, and the door to the bathing chamber is open, a concession to her which he has since found himself rather enamoured with – Galra do not bathe with water, after all.

Honerva frowns slightly, tucking her hair behind her ear, and steps silently into the bathing chamber. She can see his silhouette through the clouded screen of the shower, all thick limbs, broad shoulders and solid waist, and she bites her lip, feeling a hot rush through her veins. As quietly as she can, she leans down to remove her boots, placing them gingerly by the wall, and next she unclasps her robe, letting it fall to the floor, her trousers following soon after. She loosens her hair, teasing her fingers through the tangles a long day of study has brought, and she opens the screen, hot steam billowing out into the bathing chamber, clouding the mirror.

She hears the hiss of his tongue over the water, and she smiles: he knows her scent well enough to not startle at her sudden arrival. And now she sees the wide expanse of his back, and her whole body thrums with the need to be _closer_ , against him, to feel the slick solidity of his scales and the leathery smoothness of his skin.

“You did not tell me you had returned,” she murmurs, stepping up to him, tentatively raising her hands to his waist. As she expected him to, he turns, showing her the breadth of his chest and the ridges of his abdomen and… She rakes her eyes back up to his face as he cups her cheeks with his usual deceptive gentleness.

“I did not want to interrupt your work,” Zarkon says, leaning down, bent almost double, to kiss her. She presses her hands to his wrists, kissing back, enjoying the sensation of his sharp teeth beneath her tongue and the feeling of his against hers, two-pointed and so much more flexible than her own. The familiar feelings stir her further, and she raises her arms, wrapping them around his neck, a shudder of anticipation running through her as his hands curl around her waist.

“I missed you,” she replied, pulling back enough to press her forehead to his. “My work is not more important than greeting my husband.”

The low rumble of his laughter ripples through her, warming and pleasant, like home, but that is not what she needs. She places her hands on his chest and pushes him back, against the smooth tiles of the shower, a smirk spreading over her face. He goes unflinchingly, something she loves about him: that no matter how incredibly huge and strong he is, he always bends so easily to her will. She presses against him, bites into one of his pectorals, and lets her hands skim down his body, following the contours of his muscles. Already she can feel him hardening against her, and he grunts when her fingers meet his length, tracing out the familiar ridges along its underside, still slightly soft. She wraps her hand around him, ever-so-slowly beginning to pump, to bring him to full hardness, until he stands stiff and proud between them, the tapering, pointed head brushing beneath her breasts. She rubs her body against him, moaning, rubbing her own legs together in an effort to gain the barest respite for her now-throbbing cunt.

“Perfect,” she murmurs against his skin, biting down again, but is taken by surprise when all of sudden her feet no longer touch the ground.

Her back meets the wall, gentle as ever, as Zarkon kneels, and her knees go over his shoulders, and she lets out a breath, toes curling in anticipation. He kisses her stomach before raising her higher, bracing her on his strong forearms, mouth barely a breath away from her dripping folds. All it takes it a touch of her hand to his head and their burning eyes meeting and he is upon her, thin lips enfolding her clit and sucking, hard, forcing a broken moan from her. He pulls back, much to her annoyance, but is not gone for long: his tongue takes the place of his mouth, following the natural curve of her mound from perineum to clit and back again, over and over, far more dextrous than it has any right to be.

Honerva arches as best she can against him, shoulders digging into the wall as she pants and moans, and his pace quickens. Finally, making her shudder in relief, his tongue breaches her, delving into her cunt and driving shock after shock of pleasure through her. He explores inside, deep, caressing her walls with an expertise born from knowing exactly what she needs and how. His hands clench on her buttocks, squeezing, the barest hints of claws on her skin as he presses his mouth against her, his groans thunder, sending shockwaves from her cunt, up her spine, down again, the steadily rising high making her ears ring.

There is only so far she can ascend, and she reaches that brilliant peak she was so desperate for. Her heels digging into his back, clawing at the plates of his head, her own thrown back against the wall and screaming his name, she comes in a liquid rush, throbbing around his tongue, thighs tight against his cheeks.

He rides her aftershocks with low humming and slow, languorous flicks of his tongue inside her until he retreats, licking his lips. He kisses his way up her body, pausing to make her whimper as he sucks her nipples, until he reaches her mouth and she is almost bent double, trapped wonderfully between the hard breadth of his body and the wall.

“Your scent is divine,” he growls, low and dark and it makes her tremble with delight, “and your taste even more so.”

Gently, he lowers her from his shoulders, rising to his feet, but he never sets her down. Knowingly, and more than happily, she wraps her arms around his back and her legs around his waist, the cleft of her cunt pressed against the ridges of the underside of his cock. Ancients, how _lucky_ she is that all of this is _hers_. Slowly, her eyes never leaving the sight of them almost joined, she undulates, her hips rising and falling, her slit tracing his length from thick base to pointed tip. He groans her name, eyes closing, and she revels in how powerless they make each other, how easily they take each other to breath-taking precipices and throw each other down.

She wraps her hand around him, and manoeuvres him, tilted perfectly at her soaking entrance, and he thrusts. For one potent, glorious moment, her mind goes completely blank, unable to process anything beyond the length and girth of him inside her. He fills her so fully her breath is stolen, and every time, for the briefest instant, she thinks she cannot take it, he’s too big, too much. But she relaxes, and he is where he belongs, large and perfect and she shivers with pleasure, eyes half-lidded meeting his burning ones.

He is sheathed within her to the hilt, and allows her the time to settle, to adjust, until she lets out a satisfied breath.

“Own me,” she demands, and there’s a subtle smile on his lips as he slowly withdraws, leaving her frightfully empty but for the tip, before driving back within her, hard and confident and she could almost weep with how perfect he feels. He is _huge_ and his rhythm is strong as his hips pound into hers, the ridges of his cock catching inside her, an extra layer of bliss. He holds her steady, with no effort at all, but she still meets him thrust for thrust, like the ebb and flow of the ocean. She digs her fingers into the edge of the plates that follow his spine, drawing a soft groan from him, while his head dips and finds her breasts again, dragging his tongue over her nipples, teasing them with his tongue and the ridges of his mouth. All she can do is pant and move with a mindlessness she would hate in any other situation, unable to even think of anything that isn’t his cock inside her, where he should be, and how wonderful his name is when she can remember to cry out.

Even as she clenches around him, so close to coming, she can feel the change in the cant of his hips, his thrusts quickening.

“Yes,” she breathes, head thrashing from side to side, seeing stars behind her eyelids. “So close, my love-”

Something within her snaps like a taut wire, roars like thunder, and like an earthquake her climax takes her, tightens her impossibly around him. And as always that is all he needs to stiffen, go still, and spend himself deep inside her, hot and slick, and he rides out the aftershocks within her, pulsating together, panting together, until she goes limp against his chest.

Zarkon remains inside her, as always, for a little longer than is truly comfortable, but she likes having him there, all hers, going nowhere. Eventually he softens, slips from her and leaves her almost bereft, his seed dripping from her.

She fumbles for his face, pulling into a languid, grateful kiss. She’d _missed_ him. She’d missed how perfectly their bodies joined like this – and of course, other things: his quiet, stoic company, his encouragement and enthusiasm for anything she ever does, but this… this is also needed.

Still holding her easily, he turns off the water and sets her upon the dresser, wrapping her in a cottony towel that also only exists for her benefit, thought the size might be better for him. She smiles as he nuzzles at her, tongue flickering along her jawline and the lobes of her ears, tasting little parts of her.

“Welcome home, my love,” she murmurs, finding his hands and taking them, waiting for him to press his forehead to hers and for their quintessences to flow from one to the other in a dance as timeless as the one they just finished.

“I am glad to be home,” he replies, and she sighs in contentment.


End file.
